Antics
by threadsofregret
Summary: [One-Shot]about Love?. Definitely, though it's not as it seems. No fluff. R for non-explicit sex.
1. Antics

Antics

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling is the genius who inspires my unruly (and sometimes cynical) work. Without her, I am nothing. So I'm not making any money off of this, and I pretty much don't plan on it.

And my thanks to reviewers. I've always thought these little "notes" were kind of corny, so I'll make this short. I'm glad my work pleases you, my gratitude for your time and your comments. Feel free to criticize, I'm always looking to make your experience of reading my pieces more enjoyable.

-

_Baby don't you try to fight me  
__Baby don't you try to fight  
__Baby don't you try to find me  
__Baby it will be alright_

_Along the way,  
Tears drowning the wake of delight  
Nothing like this built today  
You'll never see a finer ship in your life_

_Black Goddess, White Goddess  
__Red Temptress of the sea, you treat me right._

**Interpol**_take you on a cruise_

-

He never spoke.

Always hungry, to touch, to taste, to kiss. Everything that spells "L-O-V-E" but had none.

He didn't care, and I knew it. He made sure I knew it the first time we made love.

There's that word again—_love_. It's wrong. We didn't ever make love. We had sex. Fucked. The despicable and dirty term for a despicable and dirty act.

He was always pale and clean, never breaking into a sweat, never a hair out of place. He went inside and out before I could take a breath, leaving me sweaty and flushed laying on those wobbly and hard desks… waiting for more, dare I call it pleasure? But it never came, and neither did I. He would never allow me that satisfaction, he was ashamed of my reaction, and more than that, his.

I learned quickly that this was a noiseless affair. The first few times, I couldn't help but moan when his thin, red lips grazed my skin. Showing him my emotion, the same kind that I craved from him but never received, complying to his ulterior desires that even he didn't know he wanted.

_Of course he didn't want it_, but I _needed_ some break to the silence, some indication of why we were there.

Nothing.

Instead of an embrace or a whisper of sweet nothings in return, I am received by a cold hand roughly pressing the small of my back. Urging me to stop making noise, 'somebody would find us.' He never said this out loud, but it was apparent.

Apparent in all of the times he kissed me or when we touched, full of lust but not even. The way he never let my greedy and deprived hands travel past his shoulders or above his neck. I couldn't run my fingers through his soft hair; feel his muscles—couldn't do everything that my body ached to do.

Yet I wore myself out, trying to please him, redeeming myself in his eyes. It didn't work.

It's all in naught to talk about it, or to convince myself that it wasn't worth anything. "Don't dwell on the past, Ginny. You'll only get hurt." they always say. But I can't help it. From That Day until now, it was all about him, him, him.

I was young and in love, however humiliated I am to say it. Though there would always be "that arm" pulling me into the same classroom night after night, I would feel excited and special, like he was choosing me out of all of the attractive girls at Hogwarts. But it was just undress, touch, and leave, a set routine that we memorized with great ease. With him, this was a meaningless and never-ending cycle that I desired to understand. To change.

I had wished that one day we would get caught. _Selfish Ginny, as if He would want the world knowing that he was with "a Weasel" like you. The poor one with six red-headed, gangly and freckled brothers, the one who stalks and worships Saint Potter, the one who follows Mudblood Granger around like a little lapdog._

I would keep my blatant unpopularity, and he would keep his status as King of Hogwarts and Head Boy.

Oh, they loved him, all of them, even after they found out what he and his father had done with themselves. They adored him, even though they knew he spent time in his chambers drinking, smoking, and enjoying his rights of being a straight man.

But then why was I such a secret?

I was a disgrace to all humans, muggle or wizard, not even fit to be a common slut that he could invite to his bed. If he was found with me, his reputation would be ruined, he the Golden Child would be dethroned.

So he never took that chance. I was always his to use and throw away, but he could nor would ever be something I could call my own.

There were so many times where I sat in bitterness and denial, asking myself why this was fair and why I had even bothered with this twisted sort of agreement at all. _Because you have nothing else—your skinny, paper-white body, your ugly, dull red hair, and your cunt. That's all you have to offer. _And it was true. I persuaded myself that I was a failure, and a worthless shag for him. Which I was.

But I was constantly looking for a sign, and I found it. The day my wish came true.

That day he was particularly demanding and almost violent, shaking me like it was the last time we would ever do this again. He didn't even bother to kiss me, just went right at it, faster and faster every time. It drove me mad, the urgency of his touch, it made me want him even more than I already did. I brought myself even lower when I admitted this.

And then the door opened. He hadn't locked it this time because he was so frustrated, so hasty and so ready. I didn't know her name, she was a new 3rd year teacher. But I would never forget the blank expression on her face that quickly darkened with disapproval and confusion.

"Filthy whore!" he said loudly and relentlessly, not looking me in the eye, "Get off me!" I rolled on the floor in shame, silently searching for my robes in our collective pile of discarded garments; slowly walked out the door with my head hanging low.

That was the first time he had spoken to me, those precious five words. They were the most he had ever said throughout our history, and the first time it occurred to me that he would always be his fathers' son and the Dark Lords' follower.

Strong and silent, and who always got what he wanted. Including me.

His money and status made sure that word of our_ rendezvous _didn't get around school—something that I was partially grateful for, but mostly resented when I saw him walking through the halls with girl after girl during the rest of the year. _That could have been me, _I would tell myself, though there was really no chance of that to begin with. I was too much of a "Weasley" for his real attention or touch. I had no reason to have any association with him again, and he didn't make any efforts to do the same with me.

Sometimes I could feel him watching me, though, staring secretly and silently. It was as if he could see my guilt, written all over my face, from what I had done with Nameless Faceless boy number twelve, nights ago. I had learned a valuable lesson from him.

I treated all of them the same way he had treated me.

I had a year left here, one separate from him or all of the things I could have been if people knew about us.

Once again I was Just Ginny, recognized by some because of her lack of wealth and to others by her nights with them.

No one suspected that we even knew each other at all. That was his aim.

-

Now, two years later, I go back to school—the seven best and worst years of my life—to reminisce and grieve over how sick I made myself.

I visit familiar places; dormitories, old professors, and classrooms. I wander around in the afternoons and visit Our place, which I had avoided for so long.

He's there, and I'm surprised. He's thinking, pacing around the room, a piece of parchment in his left hand and a quill in his right. He's signing his name, and I can tell it's for me. He knows me so well, though we never actually met. An underline and no kisses, he's finished.

He hears me stir and turns around, looking calm and cool. He starts to make his way outside, leaving me in wonder and uncertainty as always. As he walks out the door, he folds the letter haphazardly and hands it to me without a sound, without so much as a glance.

Hiding my excitement and worry, I unfold it along with my destiny. The handwriting is angular and slender, just like him.

I am afraid to read it, as if I'm not ready for what it has to say. I'm never ready for him. The next few seconds are a blur. I sit on _my_ desk and read, remembering what went on in this very room.

_Virginia,_

_There is no way I can put this bluntly. Flowery words require flowery letters. To say that I've never loved you would be a lie to you and to myself—and I am one of the most honest people you will ever encounter._

_From that day till now, I have always thought about what I could have done differently to change the outcome. And I have come up with a conclusion: absolutely nothing. _

_There is no way we could have been together, whether we had spoken or not, whether I had whispered your name in your ear or smelled your hair or let you finish your pleasure, any of the things a man does to a woman he loves. Nothing could change. Surely such an intelligent woman as yourself could see this, Ginny. _

_I never regret anything that happened between us. But I, myself don't know why we tried to begin with—the end was inevitable. It was either then or now, and there's an obvious answer to that. I was hoping that in the mean time you could forget about me, about us, and maybe be happy._

_As you may know, my duty as an elite requires me to marry into a wealthy, noble family of my parents' choosing. My parents have chosen. She is beautiful, and rich, but will never be as stunning as you when you are lying on these desks, waiting for me. _

_This is not a "sorry" letter, because no amount of apologizing could ever justify what has happened and what will happen in the future between us. Because there is no us. _

_Go find someone, Virginia. Someone who will care for you so deeply that they aren't hindered to love you by family traditions or enemies versus friends. Someone who isn't me._

_Don't be too hurt. _

_Yours Sincerely, _

_Draco M. Malfoy_


	2. Author's Note has nothing to do with the...

Hey Guys, this is a one shot and all, and I don't think it can be any more than that (it wouldn't seem right, the story is complete in and of itself) but I think that I can play around with an idea like it. Maybe a Draco counterpart? Maybe a story relating to this but is post Draco with some flashbacks?

Tell me what you think. Because I don't want another story being too much like this one (that's boring) but I don't want to be stupid and fluffy (no offense to anybody who likes that kind of stuff). I need some imput.

-threadsofr3gret


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